Motherhood. . .Sooo Gross!

My baby has been cutting the same teeth since around Thanksgiving.  He's been drooly, pukey, weepy, clingy, and screamy.  He's demanded snuggles, cuddles, nursie, and chewie toys.  One tiny tooth finally started peeking from his pink gums a couple of weeks ago.  I took a breath and enjoyed having my sweet & happy baby back again.

Then the molars started erupting.  His upper left gum gave the first indication of what was to come when I noticed one night that it was swollen and black.  My first thought was that the poor little guy had a rotten tooth before it even showed up.  No, he had an eruption hematoma.  It looked terrible, within a week, he had another one show up on his lower right gum.  I have never seen gums nearly this swollen and it was painful just to look at it so I really felt for my baby.

I've tried everything to relieve the poor child's pain and nothing really works for long.  The only thing that seems to make him happy for very long is to be cradled and nursed.  So I've done a lot of that in the last few weeks to get the kid through this tough time. 

Those molars finally started appearing and I was looking forward to getting my sweet baby back.  I probably would have, but he caught a little cold.  Or, at least, I think it's possible that he has a cold.  He tends to get a runny nose when teeth are coming, but it normally only lasts a couple of days.  He's had a runny nose now for several days and it doesn't seem to be improving. 

Teething and a cold. . .just the ticket to getting a good night of sleep!  Yeah, no, it pretty much is guaranteed that I won't sleep tonight any more than I have the last three nights.  The upside is that I can doze a little while he's tucked in bed and nursing.  The downside is that I have a bitey baby in bed with my breast in his mouth.  Babies don't use their teeth at all when actively nursing, but he tends to clamp down as he drifts off to sleep.  That's right, I've ended up with bleeding nipples a time or two this week.  Yeouch!

So bleeding nipples and two eruption hematomas are gross enough, but it's nowhere near the zenith of grossness.  You might even think that it doesn't even warrant a blog post whining about the grossness of motherhood.  Keep reading you sickos.

One of the things that is most amazing about breastfeeding is that the body will produce antibodies in response to what the mother is exposed to and this helps strengthen the immune system of the breastfed child.  It is one of the reasons that breastfed children tend to not get ill as frequently as their formula fed counterparts.  With this in mind, I frequently kiss my kids.  Well, I'd kiss them anyway, but I make sure to up the kissy-kissy stuff when anyone in the family is feeling poorly so that baby can get the maximum benefit. 

I fed my baby some chicken dinosaurs for lunch earlier this week.  Yeah, yeah, I fed my baby chicken dinosaurs - go ahead and judge.  They take less than a minute and he eagerly eats them.  Heck, even I like them and I generally hate kiddie fare.  I suspect that the secret ingredient is crack.  There is  no secret ingredient?  Well, damn, I just like crappy chicken dinosaurs!

So baby has had a runny nose and I've been all kissy monster on him lately because I want to help him fight whatever he's fighting.  Or he just has a runny nose from teething and I don't need to kiss his sticky little face.  I'll stick with kissing. . .but I'll make sure from here on out to really look where I'm planting my pucker. 

I kissed his cheek after lunch and something ended up in my mouth.  Typing that makes me realize just how gross it is, but it was not my thought process at the time.  "Hey, a little bit of chicken dinosaur.  Awesome!  Hey, this chicken dinosaur bit is kinda salty.  Why was it on his cheek?  What is this bit of whatever in my mouth and why am I thinking about eating it??"  I pulled it out and it was not a tiny bit of a chicken dinosaur.

It was a booger.

:::gag:::

Another gross thing happened.  I know, another thing?!  Yes, another thing.  Some people ride the gravy train, but I apparently have a round trip ticket on the gross train.  All aboard!

My baby was toddling around one day and I caught a stinky whiff of something.  I figured that he had either tooted or pooped so I did the normal mom thing to check.  No, not the novice mom thing where you sweep their crack with your finger.  I just pulled the back of the diaper open and took a quick look.

A quick look - ha!  Some things can not be unseen.  Even things that were seen with a quick look!

What did I see?  What was so gross?  I saw him actually pooping in his diaper.  Remember how I mentioned that he's all drooly & stuff from the teething?  Liquid pouring out his mouth usually means liquid pouring out of his butt.  I saw soft & liquidy poo filling the diaper.

I will never eat chocolate soft serve again.  Never!

Fears and Joys Exist with Either Gender

I'm 19-weeks along today!  Full term is considered anywhere between 38- to 42-weeks (most EDDs are calculated as 40-weeks from LMP) so I'm essentially at the midpoint of this pregnancy.  Crazy, right?  It seems like it was just yesterday that I saw that miraculous second pink line on Easter morning.  I'm trying so hard to savor each moment of this pregnancy because I'm very aware that it will likely be the last time that I'll ever have this experience.  I love this baby so much and the time really is flying!

In less than a week I will finally find out if I will need to purchase new baby clothes or if I can make do with hand-me-downs from my son.  I technically could find out right now, actually a few weeks ago, but I couldn't get in any earlier due to scheduling difficulties.  In my typical way of overthinking things, I've been pondering parenting each gender.  The word around the campfire is that it's impossible for my husband's family to yield girls, but the name dream I had two weeks prior to conception was definitely a girl's name and I find myself mentally calling this baby by that name.  Of course, I will be beyond thankful for either a boy or a girl and I pray every night for a healthy baby born at term.

My Thoughts on Boys
I wasn't sure that I'd be up to the task of raising a young man, but I believe that I was truly made to mother a son.  My son is a bright star in my life and I adore him.  He's my joy, my heart. 

I "get" how boys think and I think I have far more in common with males than females.  I certainly get along better with XY than XX.  I like watching sports, shooting guns, building stuff, taking things apart, and getting dirty.  My superhero and sci-fi geekery is well known and I'll pick an action movie over a rom-com (the gag-inducing chick flick) any day of the week.  I love sharing my love of all manly things with my son and our relationship is a perfectly comfortable fit.

Much as I like being one of the guys and mothering one, this mother does have fears about raising boys.  I worry that my soft tendencies will make him a wimpy doormat and I alternately worry that he'll become a bully.  I cringe at the notion of a predatory woman targeting him or of him becoming a predatory male.  I ache over the thought of a woman breaking his heart, cleaning out his bank account, moving away with his children (my grandchildren!), and otherwise hurting him in any way she can. . .unfortunately, our court system so heavily favors women that he'll be pretty much guaranteed an unfavorable outcome if he ever suffers the pain of divorce.  I so hurt over that last notion that I already find myself praying about his future wife - that she'll be lovingly raised and that she'll always be there for my son, his biggest cheerleader and greatest helper.  The flip side to that is that I pray he will be the kind of man who knows how to be lovingly considerate and that he'll easily inspire such devotion in his mate.

What upside do I see to mothering boys?  I think I've covered how well-suited I am to mother boys, but it's also that I would always be the queen of castle and I like being the only female in the house.  It sometimes seems to me that sons are closer to their mothers than daughters are though that relationship often appears to reverse sometime in adulthood.  I guess the bottom line is that I have a good track record now with mothering a little boy and I think I would be more comfortable to have a familiar experience by having a second son.


My Thoughts on Girls
Pink is my favorite color, but I am not a girly-girl.  I don't like frilly dresses, I think tea parties sound boring, I don't understand why screaming about bugs is more effective than simply squashing them, and I'm not generally a fan of fussy behavior.  If it weren't for my vagina, I'd wonder if I'm really a girl.

I like being the main source of estrogen in my house and I proudly wear my queenly crown, but it seems to me that the family dynamic changes significantly when a princess is added to the mix.  I have noted that some, not all, mothers and daughters have a bond that isn't one I want to have with a child of my own; they just aren't that close or loving with each other.  Two hormonal chicks in the house at one time generally is not a positive living arrangement.

Based on mother-daughter relationships I've observed, I fear that my own competitive nature would roar to life and perhaps an unspoken jealousy would begin to exist on my end at some point.  Females are so often mean to other females and I wouldn't want a child of mine to experience that special brand of girlish cruelty - from others or their own mother.

I believe that girls are sexualized at a far earlier age than boys and, perhaps as a result, girls are more likely to be sexually and/or physically abused in some fashion by their peers and by older people.  Unfortunately, abuse often negatively impacts victims in their relationships for years, even decades afterward, and a girl who has been abused will many times end up in what is essentially the same relationship with a new abuser.  The very thought of a child of mine being so wounded actually brings tears to my eyes because it's a lifelong injury and I don't think the healing is ever totally complete.

The upside I see to mothering a girl?  Obviously it's that you can support another woman, your own daughter, on her own motherhood journey.  Sure, your son may father children, but frequently that child's mother would rather have her own mother offer help, advice, and support.  In an ideal world, you would be more actively involved in the pregnancy, birthing, and raising of your daughter's children because usually women on their motherhood journey can count on their own mothers to be there for them.  I tell myself that I absolutely would be there for my daughter, no matter what. 

I guess I am afraid of the unfamiliar and I'm not sure that I have the history or ability to adequately mother a girl.  I have many friends who are wonderfully loving mothers to their daughters and I think it's possible to be the kind of mother I want to be if I observe and learn what girls need.

* * *

Do you have sons or daughters or both?  What joys did you find about mothering your children?  What concerns did you have about mothering either gender?  Were your concerns valid or did you find that they were totally unfounded?

A Whole You is the Best Gift to Your Child

A good friend and I had a deep conversation around five months ago.  She mentioned that her therapist said that a whole you is the best gift to give to your child.  A whole you is the best gift to give your child. 

I've been pondering this comment ever since we had the conversation. I have several thoughts and opinions on the matter (shocking, right?), but I'm interested in reading what other people think. 

What do you think it means to be the "whole you?"  Do you think the "whole you" is the best gift you can give your child?  Why or why not?  Do you feel like you're being the "whole you?"  Why or why not?  How do you keep your self "whole?'

You Talk To Your Children With That Mouth?!

I suppose an alternate title for this post could be Be Careful What You Call Them Because Kids Tend to Live Up to Labels.

I was at Knott's Berry Farm for around nine-hours the other day.  I wasn't able to go on many rides so I was able to do quite a bit of people watching while I was there.  Not just watching, but I unfortunately got the full hearing experience too. 

Boy, did I my ears get worked over!  I'm certainly not a prude - as anyone who reads what I write or knows me personally can no doubt attest.  I've been known to have quite the, ahem, colorful vocabulary, but I could not believe some of the things that I heard people saying out loud at a family-friendly venue.  Even worse, I was stunned by the things some people said to their own children while at a theme park for what I assume was supposed to be a day of fun for the family.

Here is the worst thing I overheard:

"You little fucker!  Stop acting like a prick!"

A trashy mother talking to an insolent teenager, right?  Wrong. 

The child was perhaps four years old and was bawling his eyes out while Sharpie-eyebrow mother walked ahead, tossing insults over her shoulders.  Sure, it appeared that he'd been teasing his little sister, but come on!  Who talks to their kid that way?  Even on their worst day, what parent would say those things to a little kid?

Can that boy possibly have a bright future when he's been the target of such a heinous verbal attack by his mother?  Yes, I know that this was just one incident and I don't know all the details.  However, I can't help but think that this poor boy has probably heard a lot worse at home and is probably berated unmercifully if she's unashamed and able to talk to her child like this in public.

I'm trying really hard to tamp down anything in this post that sounds like I'm up on my high horse because I know that I suck as a parent plenty of times too.  I've got to say though that I'm appalled by the way some people choose to talk to their children.  Again, I know that I've bit my son's head off plenty of times. . .but I would never consider calling him hurtful names and cursing at him.  Yes, I reserve the right to reverse my opinion on the matter when the teen years come around!

I know that kids can go totally bonkers with all the sights and sounds of an amusement park.  I know that they can easily get whipped into a sugar frenzy.  I know that sometimes they can really get on their parents' nerves.  I have a high energy kid, I get that it's exhausting and that sometimes all patience is gone.

What I don't get is how anyone can possibly justify cursing at their child while calling them a mean name.  I really do not understand this at all.  Frankly, I hope to never understand it lest I become too comfortable with the notion and risk becoming that which I despise.

The Lasting Ache of Parental Rejection

A friend was lamenting recently that her child's father is a truly absentee parent.  They are divorced and, as is sadly often the case, the non-custodial parent seems to be confusing their offspring with their former spouse.  He not only doesn't contact his child, but he doesn't even appear to want any kind of relationship with his firstborn.  In his anger toward his ex-wife (I guess), he is willing to reject and hurt his own child.

Words can't express how I feel for her child.  A lasting ache is created when a parent deliberately wounds their child.  It doesn't matter why the injury occurs, though it frequently seems to be for completely selfish reasons on the part of the parent, and it doesn't matter how old the child is who has been hurt.  Physical and emotional wounds may heal, scars may fade, but the ache remains and it will always be a painful reminder for the child.  The sting of parental rejection never goes away - NEVER!  The child may move on and appear to be fine, but they are painfully aware that they were rejected and hurt by one person who should always be there for them. . .their own parent.

I can only believe that one day this individual will regret his neglect and he'll realize that he missed out on quite a lot. No, not just that he missed out; that he CHOSE to miss out.  He abdicated his position as father. If his child can somehow find the desire to forgive and try to forget this emotional abuse (and, make no mistake, that's exactly what it is), good.  If not, well, who could blame the poor soul for staying far, far away?

The good news is that one can always choose to rise above and be better than that which was modeled to us.  The most carelessly injured women can become the best mothers and the most heartlessly treated men can become the best fathers.  We can always choose to do better than was done to us.  Unfortunately, it doesn't always turn out that way and sometimes the abuse will continue to play out for generations. . .the root being one parent and their horrible decisions. 

Parenthood is a great responsibility and it's a damn shame that all parents don't realize this fact and rise to the challenge of the role that they willingly chose to accept.

Toddlers Will Make You Mental

My son was not an accident; we desperately wanted him.  My husband and I tried for months upon months upon months to have a baby.  I loved my son before he was ever conceived.  I wept when I heard his heartbeat at 6-weeks gestation.  I adored him before I ever saw him.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that the sun rises and sets on his face (that would be my husband), but it's pretty darn close.  I sometimes think that no one can possibly understand just how much I love this little boy.

But, as much as I love him, sometimes he makes me absolutely cuckoo.  I've gathered, through experience and advice, that mothering a toddler can be strange at times.  And, man, peculiarity is ruling in this house right now - particularly when it comes to sleep.

My son used to be a super-sleeper.  The operative words there are "used to."  He slept a minimum of twelve-hours each night and he still napped for several hours every afternoon.  All that stopped when he began sleeping (yeah, right!) in the big boy bed.

Now he throws a fit and protests bedtime.  He refuses to take naps.  He runs out of his bedroom to be with us in the living room.  Every night doesn't end in a horrible battle, but most nights do.

I know he's not getting enough sleep because he has suddenly become a child who will sleep in the car.  My son has only slept in the car a very small handful of times in his entire life; perhaps ten times total.  Now, he falls asleep in the car at least once each week.

I've tried all kinds of tactics to get him to sleep.  I've cuddled him until he's nearly sleeping, I've sat on the floor and rubbed his back, I've put him in time out, I've yelled at him to get back in that bed!, I've snuggled with him on a bed, I've moved his bedtimes and naptimes.  Nothing seems to work more than once or twice except me sleeping in the twin-size bed in his room.  I do not want to sleep in his room because I want to be in my room with my husband.  But I want sleep more than anything these days so I will sometimes cave and go to the little one's bedroom.

He actually went to bed pretty easily last night.  Sort of.  He ran out of his room and sat on the couch.  He zonked out in short order so I put him in his own bed.  Around midnight, he ran to our room and wouldn't go back to bed.  I decided to go to sleep in his room so we could all get a little sleep.

That worked wonderfully until 2:00 am when he kicked me in the head (!) and then ran out to the living room.  As he was running about screaming, I really envied friends who have never experienced the joys of parenthood.  I eventually got him back in bed and he slept until 9:00 this morning.  I, however, didn't have such luxury and I figure that I maybe ended up with a total of three or four hours of sleep last night.  I find it practically impossible to sleep with him in the bed.

I was tired, but we went to a birthday party today.  It was a pool party.  My son loooves the water and he had so much fun.  My heart felt so full as I was watching him splashing, laughing, and playing.  Yes, I'm chronically exhausted.  Yes, his tantrums are tiresome.  Yes, I'm finding that his toddlerhood is making me mental. 

But, oh how I love this little boy.  He really is my sweet sunshine.

The Penis Post

The Centers for Disease Control indicates that circumcision is on the decline in America.  I have some thoughts on why that might be, but I don't want to turn this post into a dry discussion of cultural norms as they relate to the infant penis.  Instead, I want to have a little fun talking about something serious.

I like 'em long, short, thick, & thin. I like them circumcised and uncircumcised. I like the pubes trimmed and I like the pubes unruly. I'm okay with them a little musky and I'm okay with them smelling of bath soap. Basically, I like dick, no matter what. After all, we all know that the only thing that matters is how it feels.

Uh, but I've only been with three guys.  And two were husbands.  ;-)

I never really gave any thought to whether or not my love interest possessed a circumcised penis or not; like I said, they are all pretty great in their own way and there is something to like about just about each one you encounter. Prior to childbirth, I assumed that I would not circumcise any sons that I may have because foreskins just don't really matter to me.  I'm not an intactivist, but I'm also not running around with a scalpel on the hunt for foreskins.  I just don't care all that much about it.

I was fraught with worry once I discovered that I was expecting a boy. To circumcise or not circumcise, that was the question. I ultimately felt strongly that I did not want to circumcise - until I began talking about it with people I know. I discovered not one, not two, but three grown men who had experienced the horrific pain of post-infant circumcision. These men endured medically necessary circumcisions long after they grew out of infancy.

One individual was three, one was in his pre-teens, and one was just about 70. The youngest male reports that he refused to go to his mother for weeks because in his young mind, she was the one who brought him to the doctor for this operation and, therefore, she was the one to blame for his pain. The male who was around 11-years of age when he was snipped reports that the biggest problem he had (besides the problems that necessitated the circumcision in the first place) was with avoiding an erection while his wound healed. He says that, at that age, he could get an erection if the wind blew. And the elderly man who ended up with a necessary circumcision at the end of his life. . .well, I suppose that he enjoyed his foreskin all those years, but it was impossibly painful to have his dick cut in his 7th decade.

I conducted an admittedly un-scientific survey of woman friends to determine what type of dick they preferred. The women I surveyed were in their mid-20s - 40s and they encompassed various ethnicities; white, hispanic, black, & asian, to be specific. I asked if they preferred a circumcised penis or an uncircumcised penis. Circumcision won out by about 9 to 1. Indeed, uncircumcised penises (penii?) were roundly ridiculed and there were many unsolicited, derisive comments made about the so-called anteater.

I found the ridicule directed at uncircumcised wieners to be a little out of line. I dated an uncircumcised individual for three years and I can attest that they have their own special charms. But I also realize that we all have our preferences and, frankly, I've grown quite used to having a circumcised penis in bed beside me.

My husband was a staunch defender of circumcision. I kind of thought that it would probably be better to do it in infancy if there were a chance that he'd experience and remember the pain of circumcision later in life, but I ended up not really having a strong feeling about it either way.  I don't even have a penis and I find it hard to get all worked up about circumcision one way or another.

Ultimately, it really wasn't our decision after all.  I won't say whether he was or wasn't circumcised, but there were legitimate medical reasons why we either had to circumcise or had to leave him intact.  And, you know, I don't spend any time at all worrying about my son's wiener. 

What are your thoughts on male circumcision?  Would you circumcise your male children?  Why or why not?  Whether or not your male children are circumcised, do you regret your decision?  Why?

No Helicopter HashBrown Here

I had a brief chat with a friend this evening and it reminded me of who I don't want to be as a parent.  No, no, it wasn't my friend - she is a very good parent.  But we were basically talking about Helicopter Parents. 

I just don't understand Helicopter Parents.  You know the type.  They hover like helicopters when their perfectly healthy & able children are trying to play and explore.  These kids are often forbidden from participating in activities that might be dangerous in the slightest.  Soccer is a maybe, but Football is a definite NO.  These kids are practically outfitted in bubble-wrap when riding a bike, rollerblades, or skateboards. . .if they are allowed to participate in such a "dangerous" activity at all.  These kids have Stranger Danger drilled into their heads so completely that they probably begin to fear their own shadow by the time they reach elementary school.

The children of Helicopter Parents are taught, indirectly at least, that the world is a scary place and it should be feared.  I disagree.  Is the world all unicorns and rainbows?  Heck no!  But it also doesn't have danger and pain lurking behind every corner.

Crime is down since I was a kid, but stupid jackass "stunts" and "extreme sports" are up.  I kind of think that kids have less to fear from strangers than they do from themselves.  Specifically, their lack of painful experiences leads them to do things that can really screw them up.  Getting hurt serves as a great educator, but it's tough to get hurt when you have to suit up like a Star Wars Storm Trooper just to ride your dang bike around the block.  Actually, these kids probably aren't allowed to go around the block, but you know what I mean.

I didn't always feel this way.  For a period of time, I became somewhat Helicopter-ish myself.  Even worse, I allowed other Helicopter Parents to dictate how I was raising my own child.  Well, "dictate" is a pretty strong word to use because not a word was spoken directly to me.

As most kids do, my son went through a biting and a hair-pulling phase and he went through it at a fairly young age.  Thanks to over-reaction, I spent several months jumping all over my son at the slightest hint of misconduct.  In full Helicopter Parent-mode, I hovered constantly.

One day I noticed that my son was effectively being bullied by a child who he had been rough with months earlier.  My son was passively taking the mistreatment and the parent who had been so bothered by my son's previous conduct didn't seem all that concerned about their own child's behavior.  That really bothered me, to say the least.

I realize that I was wrong to so harshly correct such a young child.  I was also wrong to change my parenting philosophy to fit in with another parent.  If I had it to do over again, I'd just redirect him to a new activity rather than take the course of action that I did.

To this day, I fear that I squashed too much of my son's lively and energetic spirit.  And I resent that I did it to meet some unspoken expectations that I was under no obligation to meet in the first place.  No, I am not a Helicopter Parent any longer. . .and I hope to never be one again.



What I Want for My Son
By MrsHashBrown
I want my son to climb. . .even if he might fall.
I want my son to fall. . .so he'll learn that it hurts.
I want my son to learn what hurts. . .so he'll be more careful.

I want my son to try new things. . .even if he might fail.
I want my son to fail. . .so he'll learn to try harder.
I want my son to try harder. . .so he'll excel.

I want my son to explore. . .even if he might get lost.
I want my son to get lost. . .so he'll learn to stay close or at least learn directions!
I want my son to learn directions. . .so he'll be able to find his way around town.

I want my son to fight if he has to. . .even if he might lose.
I want my son to lose. . .so he'll learn how to win.
I want my son to win. . .because I love him.

If Not This, Than What?

I don't believe in doing battle over everyday events and I don't believe in sending mixed messages, but there reaches a point when you wonder, should I rethink my parenting philosophy?

I don't believe in doing battle over everyday events.  I don't make a fuss if my son doesn't want to go potty before we get in the car.  I don't start a fight if my son doesn't want to eat a meal.  I don't get particularly upset if my son won't take a nap.  If he doesn't want to potty, eat, or sleep, well, okay then.  I don't get too worked up over it because my attitude isn't going to change his behavior.

I also don't believe in sending mixed messages.  Once my son was in underpants, he never saw another diaper or a pull-up diaper.  Once my son began regularly sleeping in his big boy bed, I filled his baby crib with old clothes and outgrown baby gear.  The message is the same:  he's a big boy now and this is what big boys wear and big boys don't sleep in cribs.

My son was up until an ungodly hour for the second night in a row.  It was after 10:00 pm before he fell asleep on both nights.  Understand that my son has been sleeping a minimum of 12-hours each night for well over a year and he'd been going to bed every night at 7:00 pm. 

I'm afraid that I didn't handle it very well last night and, in desperation, I cuddled him on the twin bed in his bedroom.  I don't know when he fell asleep because I fell asleep too.  Sometime in the middle of the night, I put him in his own toddler bed.  When he pointed to the twin bed tonight, I knew that he wanted me to cuddle with him again tonight and I realized that I sent him a terrible message last night:  If you won't go to sleep, I'll cuddle with you until to you on the twin bed until you go to sleep.

So I refused to cuddle.  And he refused to go to sleep.

We didn't have a battle.  It was more like a cold war.  He could sit on the couch, but there wouldn't be any television, toys, or books.  He sat on the couch until his father returned home this evening.  When I heard my husband's car, I told the boy that he could sit with his father for a few minutes, but he would have to go to sleep after my husband put him to bed.  Interestingly enough, he went right to sleep after cuddling for a few minutes with my husband.

I don't know if I should rethink my parenting philosophy, but I had some serious doubts tonight.  My problem is, what is the alternative?  Yelling and fighting with a child to make them go to sleep?  Somehow punishing the boy to make him go to sleep?  I don't think these would work with my son and I don't care to try.

Maybe I don't need to rethink my parenting philosophy just yet.

He's Even Active in His Sleep!

It was lively in my house in the wee hours of the morning today. I couldn't sleep and, when I finally decided to hit the sack, I couldn't rouse my husband from his favorite chair. So I decided to go to bed and figured he'd join me in bed eventually.

As is my customary habit, I checked on my son before retiring for the evening. He was wet and sitting up in bed when I walked in his room. He started wailing when he saw me. Hoping not to disrupt the evening too much, I thought that I could change him and change his bed without taking him out of the crib. That didn't work out so well and my poor little boy ended up wrapped in a pee-soaked sheet as I struggled with removing the bedclothes. I finally took the little one out of the crib and lay him on a fresh blanket on the floor so that I could focus my effort on the bed.

I ran the soiled linens and pajamas to the washing machine and discovered that my boy was missing when I returned to his room to finish making his bed. I looked in the front room - my husband was still snoring blissfully. I looked in the hall bathroom, expecting to find him on the potty chair - no dice. I found him in my bedroom, tossing his beloved "burpie" on my bed. Uh-oh, he wanted to snuggle with Mama before going back to bed.

I ran back to his room, determined to get the crib made up as quickly as possible. As I was putting on a fresh mattress cover, he walked in his room and announced that he was "tie-tie," which means that he's tired. I asked him to sit down and wait a minute because I was almost finished and he could go back to bed. I noted that I still had to dress him in fresh underpants and jammies and grabbed a clean fitted crib sheet. He took his blanket and wandered away with it. Nuts! I just knew that he was setting up camp in my bedroom.

I finally got the crib made up and popped my head in the living room, hoping that my husband could enjoy this aspect of parenting with me. Nope, my hubby was still oblivious to the flurry of activity. When I walked in my bedroom, my son was leaning against my bed, thumb in his mouth, eyes dropping. I picked him up and returned him to his bedroom. I dressed him in clean clothes and began to put him in his crib.

He freaked out! He began flailing around, weeping and crying my name. I caved and asked if he'd like to snuggle with Mama for a few minutes before going to bed. He said, "Yes." So my son ended up in bed with me at around 1:00 this morning.

He fell asleep within minutes of being placed in my bed and cuddled. I thought about taking him back to his own bed, but I was sure that I'd wake him so I decided to let him sleep in my bed. He has never spent the night sleeping in my bed and I kind of hope that he never does again!

I have a very wide bed. It is the widest commercial bed that you can purchase. It wasn't nearly wide enough to accommodate me and an impossibly active toddler. I think cosleeping sounds like a lovely way to remain close to young children, but I don't think I'm cut out for it. It was the most terrible night's sleep that I've ever experienced.

He started out the evening (morning) with his head near my head. By the time I woke, around 6:30ish, his feet had kicked my head no fewer than six times. His hands had touched or slapped my head at least three times. I woke at least every single hour because of something he was doing in his sleep.

I was highly annoyed during my all-night assault and I considered going to the den to sleep on the futon. I didn't because I worried that he'd be afraid if he woke up and was all alone in Mama & Daddy's bed. Instead, I moved as far to the edge as I could possibly get and I positioned myself so that I'd be less likely so suffer any major damage from his flailing arms and legs.

My husband woke and decided to come to bed at some point. I think he was surprised to find our son in bed, but he was tired and he threw the comforter back. I cautioned him to be aware of the child's hands and feet and he slipped in beside the boy. The two of us bookended our little one and that was sweet. Until that same little one twisted and kicked me, once again, in the face. He kept hitting his father in the face and my husband finally left to sleep in the den. Yes, I'm jealous.

I never advocated for cosleeping in our family in the early days because I was impossibly afraid of hurting the baby. Now I'm afraid that he would hurt us if we were a cosleeping family. Here's hoping that he stays in his own bed tonight!!

Children to Grandchildren

My husband and I tried for months upon months upon months to conceive our son. It took nearly a year. By the time that my pregnancy was confirmed, I was delirious with joy. I was so happy that a future baby was firmly ensconced in my womb that I didn't really give much thought to gender. I cleared my mind during the ultrasound, willing myself to not want one or the other, but to be thankful that I was having any child at all.

I do have to confess that I wanted to have a daughter. Until I had my son. I truly adore my son. His smile warms me more than the brightest sunshine ever could. I give thanks for him (and my husband) every single night and I'm so blessed that I was chosen to be my son's mother (and my husband's wife).

I delayed childbirth until I was in my 30s. I had a serious plan with my life and I wasn't going to let kids get in my way. That's how I felt toward children - they stopped progress and killed dreams.

In retrospect, I sometimes wonder if I made the correct decisions with my life. Logically, I know I made the correct choices. But emotionally. . .emotionally I rip myself apart every month for the choices I've made.

My husband and I have been trying to have another baby for over one year. No one obsesses over their underpants like a woman trying to conceive (or hoping not to!) and each month I am crestfallen when my baby dreams are dashed once again. I get angry and, once my fury subsides, I cry bitter tears and feel sorry for myself.

I spent many, many years fearing and preventing childbirth. I find it so completely unfair that having a child is my fondest dream now and that I'm denied my joy each month. Why did I wait so long to start a family? What was so damned important that I kept putting it off?

I've been wondering what I'll tell my son when he is interested in starting a family. Luckily, he's a boy. From a biological standpoint, it isn't all that big of an issue to hold off. He can follow in his father's footsteps and have children as late in life as he chooses. Well, that's assuming that he also marries a significantly younger woman.

I have to say that I'll advise my son to wait as long as possible before starting a family. He can have a solid career, own property, and have significant savings before even thinking of children. He can sow all of his wild oats before he has to settle down and get saddled with life's responsibilities.

Of course, he won't procreate on his own. There will be a woman carrying his child, my grandchild. I hope that my son will faithfully remain with the mother of his child(ren) and I hope that she'll be a wonderful wife to him.

Does it sound impossibly crazy that I already pray for my son's future wife? Well, I do. I pray that she'll be raised in a loving home, that she won't be harmed or wounded (physically, emotionally, or sexually) as she grows, that she'll adore my son and stick with him through all of life's storms. I pray that she'll love my son the way that I love my husband. My son will be a very blessed man if he has such a loving and devoted wife.

My husband and I talked about the differences between having a daughter and having a son prior to our son's birth. With daughters, you worry about every dick on the planet. With sons, you only have to worry about their dick. Of course, that's not entirely true. . .with sons, you have to worry about every predatory p*ssy on the planet. And that scares me so much. I hope that there is a reliable and safe male birth control pill or shot by the time my son is engaging in sexual behavior.

I'm in my mid-30s. I hope not to become a grandparent until I'm in my 70s because I think that would be the best life choice for my son. However, it's not my choice when I become a grandparent. I hope that, whatever my son does with his life, that he does it well and that his actions make his parents proud.

If You Can't Say Something Nice. . .

I was reading one of my favorite websites today and I stumbled upon a couple threads that made my head explode. After spending a few hours reflecting on what I had read, I came to a couple of conclusions.

1. The Internet is serious business.
2. Some people have so little going on in their lives that they are compelled to get up in everyone's business.

One thread had a huge fight over how parents choose to corral their children. There were very few participants in the middle. Some people stringently argued against using those child harness/leashes. They went so far as to say that parents who rely upon such devices are lazy and negligent parents. Some even indicated that it was wrong to use slings, strollers, and playpens. The other camp was people who basically said to STFU and mind your own business.

The other thread had a huge fight over breastfeeding. A few very vocal people were totally disgusted by nursing and, it kinda sounded like, children in general. These are the type of people who refer to your offspring by revolting terms like crotchfruit or crotch dropping. A few very vocal people were who I tend to refer to as the "militant breastfeeders." These are the women who will whip out their entire breast and take their sweet time before latching on baby. Oddly enough, they tend to get pissed when men stare at their exposed tits. Everyone else was somewhere in the middle because, let's face it, there is nothing wrong with breastfeeding and most women don't act like total attention whores while feeding their children.

I never weighed in with my opinions because both of these threads devolved into personal attacks from all sides. Ah, Internet denizens, you can be so childish and predictable.

So here are my thoughts on both issues:

I. Don't. Care.

Seriously, I don't care how you choose to raise your own children. I have enough to worry about while raising my own child and I just don't have the time or inclination to sweat what someone else does with their own child. I do voice a lot of opinions here, but I don't use this blog as a passive-aggressive way to slam parenting choices that differ from my opinions on childrearing. There is one notable exception, but I think I was very forthright in stating my thoughts on the matter.

When I give my opinion, I'm basically saying that this is the way I think is best. This is what works for my family. That doesn't mean that it will work for your family and it doesn't mean that I think you're doing a poor job as a parent.

All that said, I'm happy to give my opinion if asked. Otherwise, I try my best to hold my tongue because, at best, I'll sound like a know-it-all. At worst, I'll sound like I'm criticizing.

I didn't always feel this way. I was very much a believer in it being my way or the highway. But as I've grown, I've come to appreciate the advice given by Thumper's mother.

The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love

I'm not talking about the Peace Corps, though I just stole their slogan for the title of this post. I'm talking about parenthood in general, motherhood specifically.

Parenthood is an incredible responsibility. I held a responsible position prior to having my son, but it was nothing compared to parenthood. Nearly every single decision you make, from the food you prepare to the toys you purchase, can have a positive or negative impact on your child. If you're selfish and can't handle self-sacrifice, do society a favor and don't become a parent yet. There's no shame in delaying parenthood until you are mature enough to handle the responsibility. Why do you think I waited until I was in my 30s to start a family?

Parenthood comes with much joy and aggravation. The joys are obvious: your baby's eyes lighting up when you walk in the room, your baby's smiles, your little one saying "dada" or "mama," your toddler planting an unsolicited kiss on your cheek, your sweet child saying that they "luf you too." I'd imagine the joys continue to grow as the child does. The aggravations may not be as obvious to a non-parent. Yes, I know that parents shouldn't think parenting is aggravating, but sometimes it really is. My son isn't quite two, so veteran parents are probably thinking that I haven't seen anything yet. What can I say? I start some days with one last nerve and my son has the uncanny ability to continue getting on it. On those days, it's up to me to get glad in the same shoes I just got mad in and turn my frown upside down.

As a stay-at-home-mother (SAHM), I have a completely different parenting experience than my husband. I can express my exhaustion and frustration, but he can't fully understand it unless he's been in the trenches. As someone who has worked for a salary and someone who "does nothing" all day, I can easily say that it is far more difficult to stay home and care for a child.

I've heard some people claim that a woman is happiest if she's raising her children at home. I don't particularly agree with that sentiment because staying home to raise children just isn't for everyone. Financial obligations aside (and plenty of mothers work to keep a roof overhead & food in the cupboard), some women need more adult stimulation than they can get at playdates and Mommy & Me classes, some women are concerned about their future prospects and aren't willing to have a lengthy employment gap on their resume, some women just don't want to have their lives revolve around diaper changes, feedings, diaper changes, feedings, playtime, diaper changes, & naps. Women have the option of choosing whatever works best for them and in this post-feminist world, no one can question her decision. Heh, that actually just reminded me of Steve Martin's line from the movie Parenthood: "Women have choices, men have responsibilities." Sucks to be you, Men! haha

I can't say what's best for someone else's family, but I know what's best for my family. That said, caring for my child all day by myself is strange at times. The rest of the world tends to fade away when I'm focused on my little one. Things that had been important are no longer even on my radar - I'm sometimes surprised to notice that I haven't plucked my eyebrows in months. A 25-pound individual can make or break my day and the entire day goes down the toilet if my son wakes up on the wrong side of the crib. Singing The Alphabet Song 102 times each day is mind-numbing. My back, shoulders, & arms ache from playing "1, 2, 3, WHEE!" so often. I periodically have vague feelings of guilt because I'm sure that I'm not doing an awesome-enough job and raising the best kid ever.

Life is short and it is always uncertain. Though sometimes minutes begin to feel like hours and hours feel like days, I adore staying home with my son. My days with my son are precious and this time will never come again. Cleaning, cooking, laundry. . .it can all wait until my little boy is snoozing. I cherish my time with my little boy and I am so thankful that I have the opportunity to stay home with him.



Thank you, my love, for working so hard for our family. The house is a mess today because I decided to shirk cleaning and write this post while the tater tot is napping! xoxo